


Interconnection

by ToMarsAndBeyond3



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016), Supernatural
Genre: Baby amanda is very upset about the whole situation, Dean accidentally kidnaps a xhild, F/F, I'm doing it, I'm writing this so you can understand it even if youre not in one of yhese fandoms, M/M, So yall can read it no matter what, Tags will be updated accordingly, This is gonna be something, you cant stop me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 08:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18206039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToMarsAndBeyond3/pseuds/ToMarsAndBeyond3
Summary: When John Winchester goes missing, his twenty five year old son gives up the pursuit of monster hunting to hunt a type of monster that is much more grounded in reality: his father, an agent of a secret CIA operation that thrives on the imprisonment and torture of innocent people.While on the hunt with his brother, Dean meets Castiel; he's a twenty seven year old fugitive with beautiful eyes, a great smile, and a traumatized, mute little five year old named Jack Kline.--CONCEPT--





	Interconnection

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fucking doing it lads

Dean was a child when it happened.

His father was very strict with him regarding privacy rules; Dean was never to go into his things, and he needed to make sure that Sam never did so either. There were other rules, lots of other rules, but that one was the most important. But sometimes Sammy fell asleep, and Dean, he went through his father's things.

Usually he found nothing, save for some cigarettes and a few guns. John loved guns. They were used to hunt ‘the bad things’, John would often say.

What those bad things were though, Dean never did find out until that night.

It was a Saturday night, and rain was falling hard on the small town. Dean couldn’t sleep, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling of a new motel. He looked over to Sam, and the boy was fast asleep in his bed.

Dean needed to stretch his legs. He needed to do something.

He slipped off of the bed, walking slowly away so as not to wake Sam. Once he was out in the hall though, he could do whatever he wanted. He started sprinting, running up and down the hall like he was finally free.

Bang!

Dean skidded to a stop.

A resounding bang had echoed through the halls, and it had come from the downstairs rooms. Dean’s heart was beating a mile a minute; something was very very wrong.

Someone had a gun.

The seconds felt like hours as he walked down the stairs, getting closer and closer to the commotion. But finally he had made it to the bottom of the stairs, and he stopped dead before he turned the corner. Blood was pooling in front of him, stopping at his feet.

“What do you suggest we do?” That was John’s voice, and he sounded angrier than Dean had ever heard him. “Why the hell would you shoot him!?”

“He ain’t human,” a southern accent drawled, “Who cares?”

“The Director! Our fucking boss!”

“Oh, calm-”

“Our job.” John got quiet, a very deadly and potent quiet. “Is to bring these people in. It’s not their fault they have, abilities, but we need to bring them in, not kill them.”

“They’ll die in Blackwing anyway.” The sputhern voice laughed this time. “Singer, go check on WInchester’s precious little boys, make sure they ain’t woken up.”

Dean’s eyes widened.

He was up the stairs before he could think, trying to wash away the image of the blood. But the blood, oddly enough, hadn’t been the most terrifying part. No, the most terrifying part had been that accented voice.

It was malice, it was the disregard for human life, it was the personification of apathy in the face of murder.

Even at twenty five, Dean still remembered that voice.

He knew now that there were monsters in the world, but they weren’t the ones his dad had been hunting. The monsters Dean hunted were real and dangerous; werewolves and vampires and skinwalkers. They posed a real threat to society, and Dean did his best to put them in the grounf where they belonged.

But as Dean drove down a quiet road, the moon shining down on him and his music loud in his ears, something was haunting him. And no, even with the emphasis put on it it wasn’t the voice.

His father was missing, and Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted to find him.

See, Dean knew who his father was now. It had taken robbery, bribery, and at least two threesomes, but Dean had found out who John Winchester was.

“Blackwing,” the stranger had said to Dean over a drink at some dirty, run down bar. “Your daddy is one of the top agents.”

Blackwing turned out to be a top secret operation run by the CIA. Their mission was to find anomolous beings and take them in.

“But,” the stranger said again, his eyes gleaming with an odd type of malice, “That’s what they tell people. See, what they really do is, toy with the people. Expiriment on them, torture ‘em. The younger the better. Our boy was six.”

“Our?” Dean had looked around the bar at that point, fairly uneasy at the mention of others.

“My boys. They ain’t here.”

“Oh.”

That was the last Dean had ever heard from that stranger in person, but it seemed he liked Dean enough to stay in touch. Dean occasionally got texted a picture of random, crazy things. 

He appreciated them; it was something that was his and his alone.

But now his father had turned up missing, and Dean was lost. He had tried searching, and he even had an actual idea; start at his old friend’s house, Bobby Singer. But Dean had this horrible, sinking sensation in his gut, and something told him to go check on his brother.

Even if he did hate him.

Dean pulled up on the apartment building with hesitation; he just didn’t like this idea. The lights were off in the building, so clearly Sam was either at home or asleep. Dean jumped out of the car, a knife in his hand made of silver. There probably weren’t any actual monsters here, but it was better safe than sorry.

Dean held his breath, and he rang the doorbell.

Nothing happened, just for a moment.

Then a light turned on in the apartment, and then a tired looking girl opened the door. She was squinting at Dean, clearly having been woken from a deep sleep.

“What?”

“Uh…” Well, this wasn’t what Dean had been expecting, “Is, Sam here?”

“Yeah. Sleeping.”

“Can I see him?”

“No.”

Dean frowned. “Why?”

The girl laughed, pushing the hair out of her face to get a better look at Dean. “We broke up. He’s upset about it. I mean, he’s on the couch if you want him. My girlfriend is in the bed, so he isn’t.”

Jesus, had Sam really tried to date a lesbian? Well, she could have been Bisexual… Dean had no way of knowing. Either way, Dean nodded, and the girl let Dean into the apartment.

Sam was indeed sleeping on the couch, and he looked just like Dean remembered. He went to shake him awake, but thought better of it and grabbed a water bottle sitting on the table next to the couch instead. Sam yelled as the water poured on his face, scrambling in his blanket and ultimately falling to the floor. He glared up at Dean, blowing away his hair.

“What the hell, Dean!?”

“What the hell what? You were sleeping.”

“Oh fuck off.” Sam sat up, pulling at his shirt as it soaked through. Dean rolled his eyes, looking back at Sam’s ex standing in the doorway. “Why are you here?”

“Dad’s been out on some business,” Dean said, “And he hasn’t been home in a few days. I need you to help me look for him.”

Sam pretended to consider this for a moment. “No.”

“No?” Wait, that wasn’t right. Sam was supposed to agree. “Sam-”

“I don’t care about dad. He can stay missing. He wouldn’t look for me.” Sam stood, trying to push past Dean to leave. But Dean took a step backward to follow him, putting a hand on his chest.

“Where else do you have to go?”

Sam paused, his gaze slipping to the girl; the one who Dean would later learned is named Jess, but only after a few drunk nights with Sam. Sam stood a little straighter.

“Just a few days, Dean. Then I need to come back for the start of term.”

“Perfect.”

“Great.”

“Cool. Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Dean smiled, stepping away from Sam. He nodded at Jess, who looked fairly happy with this outcome. Sam looked far less so, but that was alright.

They were going to find John, and then Dean was going to break his nose.

 

**Somewhere not so far away…**

“Thank you for letting us stay, Bobby.”

Castiel’s voice felt too loud in the otherwise quiet night. Surrounding him were the sounds of crickets and creaking car parts, and coming from the house behind him - besides an outpouring of warm light - was the quiet hum of a television. Bobby Singer smiled at Cas.

“Glad you called. Blackwing don’t neet to catch any runaways.”

“It’s just, Jack is so small.” Castiel looked down at the boy asleep in his arms. He was far too young to have gone through the traumas he has, and in sleep the little boy looked almost peaceful. “So, when my brother found a way out, I suppose I was rather quick in taking it.”

“I’m glad. That place is a nightmare. Come in.” Bobby gestured to the house, and when he started walking Cas followed. Inside he placed Jack on the worn couch, and Bobby draped a blanket over him.

“You care about him,” Bobby said. 

“Well, he’s my nephew.” Castiel cleared his throat. “His father is… not the best person.”

“I’ll bet.” Bobby sighed. “Well don’t worry. They can’t find you here.”

“Good.”

Because if Blackwing found them now, Castiel knew that he wouldn’t survive the encounter.

Not by a long shot.


End file.
